Someday
by Confused Pumpkin
Summary: A missing moment from the past of a boy who has always intrigued me. He is no Percy Jackson or Luke Castellan. He is not even considered a hero. But he is a boy who, in his own way, changed the fate of the gods. One-shot Challenge: Week 2


**Author's Note – **A one-shot written for the Weekly Challenge, being hosted by ShadowPalace and WindowChild. If you're interested in joining, go check out their profiles.

**Summary: **A missing moment about a boy whose past has always intrigued me. A boy who, in his own way, changed the fate of the gods.

**Disclaimer: The characters mentioned below belong wholly to Rick Riordan.**

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Someday

_By YoungDreamer_

It is three in the morning. No person in their right mind is up at this time. Of course, that leaves all the abnormal, not-in-their-right-mind people.

William, or Bill, as he prefers to be called, slowly folds the newspaper neatly, places it on the table, and stretches, reaching over to turn off the lamp. Just to have something to do, he glances around his rented apartment to ensure that all is fine. The plush armchairs seem to stare back at him, and the open door leading to the parlor is like a gaping mouth. He shudders. _I knew I didn't want to live alone_, he murmurs in his head. _But of course Lucinda got the house and I was stuck with just cash._ He regularly talks to himself when feeling exceptionally lonely, and likes to blame his elder sister, who received the house after their parents passed away. Bill has always rather resented Lucinda for taking his rightful inheritance. A tiny movement catches his eye and he revolves his head to face it.

His seven-year-old son stands at the top of the stairs, pajamas slightly too small. Ethan clutches a crumpled tissue in one hand and a ragged teddy bear in the other. There are tears in his eyes.

"Ethan?"

The boy sniffles quietly but doesn't reply.

"You're supposed to be asleep."

As if trying to prove him wrong, Ethan replies in a hard voice, "I had a nightmare."

_Oh dear_, Bill thinks. As he grows older, the boy's nightmares increase in both frequency and intensity. Now the child often wakes up screaming and crying hysterically, wailing for the mother he never knew. More than once Bill has wanted to bang his head on the table or slap someone, but he always forced himself to patiently attend to his son. After all, this is his only link to Nemesis.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Bill frowns. "You sure? It might make you feel better."

"No." Ethan stubbornly juts his chin out. He crosses his arms, the tear tracks on his cheeks glistening in the dim lamplight. His sleep-tousled hair sticks up in random tufts and his dark eyes are full of fire, fire that is not supposed to exist in a seven-year-old's soul. With his proud stature and unbending defiance, he looks more and more like his mother every day.

The teddy bear is old, its misshapen body resembling a shapeless blob. Most of the fur has fallen out and its ears have been torn off. Only the bright dark eyes are as glossy as they were when it was bought, shining like twin black glass orbs in the bear's face. Many a night Bill has slipped unnoticed into his son's room, watching the young boy pet and love the teddy. He knows that Ethan is pretending to be a mother for his toy. Envisioning a life for the bear that he never had the pleasure of having.

"Come here." Bill holds out his arms, hoping that his son would swallow the defiance and just allow himself to be loved. But Ethan just stands there on the top step, unmoving and cold, as if his father is just another stranger to him. Bill lets his arms fall and curses himself in his head.

He never wanted a son.

Perhaps it is a bit too harsh to call him a mistake, but Bill sometimes slips and calls his son one. This wasn't supposed to happen. Nemesis was supposed to be the love of his life, but a child? If she had stayed and loved him longer, then he wouldn't mind a son. But she _left him_ and not only that, she bore him a child for him to raise by himself! He is one of those unfortunate people who can barely manage to care for a dog, let alone a child.

But somehow, somehow, the baby grew into a young boy. _He isn't dead yet, at least. That has got to count_, Bill thinks. _Messy and insolent at times, but still, Ethan isn't that bad. He doesn't get into your hair or bother you too much. He's more like a visitor than a son._ Maybe that is where his mistake lies.

A parent, however bad, never wants their child to grow up and become a traitor, murderer, back-stabber, etcetera, etcetera. Bill is no exception.

He _does_ love Ethan, but the boy just doesn't want to be loved –

"Can I watch TV?"

The question is brusque and rough, not something you would expect out of a young child's mouth. The boy has silently padded down the stairs and is standing by the door to the living room. All traces of his tears are gone, but for the slightly trembling mouth. Bill is a bit surprised that Ethan didn't go back to bed, but he is too tired to deny his son the privilege of watching TV. He does not want to argue this early in the morning. Ethan trots into the living room, leaving his father blissfully alone again.

Where was he? Oh yes – Ethan never wants to be loved. He rejects any form of physical affection. Aunts and uncles have long since stopped visiting. The boy never feels comfortable enough in his home to be a true resident. Always he acts like this is a hotel or temporary living quarters. No amount of stressing or attempts to make him feel at home makes Ethan accept that he is stuck with living with Bill Nakamura forever. Quite frankly, Bill is getting tired of his son's pigheadedness.

His phone beeps, loud and strangely shrill in the quiet of the house. He pulls it out of his pocket and glances at the glowing screen which displays the time. 3:27 AM. He sighs. _What a horrible father_, he thinks. _I'm letting my own son watch television at three-thirty in the morning when I should have tucked him back in bed as soon as he woke up. I really should scold him at least sometimes. Being told off builds good character, or so I've heard._ With that thought, he sets off to collect his son from the couch.

Upon entering the living room, Bill forgets all about reprimanding. There is total silence but for the scratching of pen on paper. The TV is off, its screen black. The only light source is an antique lamp. Ethan is curled up in a corner of one of the many armchairs, doodling aimlessly on the back of an old envelope. His teddy is slumped next to him, its glass eyes staring blankly ahead.

Bill clears his throat. Ethan doesn't even look up. "Ethan, you should go back to bed. It's bad for kids to lose sleep."

To his surprise, Ethan says quietly, "Okay." The boy folds his envelope in half and lays down his pen. He seems deep in thought. The folded envelope pops back open.

Shooing his son out of the living room, Bill stays behind to take a peek at the envelope. In the middle is a rough sketch, drawn messily the way only children can draw. Still, the picture is distinguishable. A set of scales hover rather precariously over a pair of locked swords. The right scale is tipping lower than the left, but that doesn't look like a mistake. Around the picture is one word, written over and over again in various different scripts – regular letters, bold letters, capital letters, shaky block letters, and an even shakier attempt at cursive. No matter the way it is written the word remains the same: _Revenge_.

Bill swallows. He is sure this is not one of Ethan's vocabulary words.

Back in the kitchen, Ethan is mumbling nonsense under his breath. Bill hears things like, "…tips the scale…must balance…dream…mother…revenge…what does it mean…?"

"Come on, son. Let's go to bed."

Ethan barely acknowledges his father. Bill puts a hand on the boy's shoulder, and he can feel the bone underneath through the layers of clothing, skin, and flesh. _He shouldn't be so skinny_, he thinks. _He's a growing boy, he needs muscle and nutrients_.

Oh, Bill _knows_ he isn't trying hard enough. He _knows_ that he should let his child grow up with discipline and rules so his future will be brighter. He _knows_ that there is something wrong with Ethan. Normal little boys and girls who have lost their parents get over it after a while. Ethan never knew his mother, and yet he is stubbornly refusing to let go, and even becoming bitter sometimes.

Back in his bedroom, said boy has clambered into bed and is laying down amidst his blankets, looking too fragile and small on the large bed. The teddy bear is tucked under his arm, just a lump under the comforter. Ethan stares up at his father and, his dark eyes shining, demands, "Tell me about Mom."

"Your mother?" Bill holds back a yawn and tries his best to be a good daddy. He gathers his thoughts. "Well…your mother was a magnificent person. Absolutely magnificent. She signifies balance. Too much good means you need a bit of bad and too much bad means you need a bit of good – that's her motto." He pauses and thinks some more. "She was a proud woman, hard-headed, determined, and very strict, but she was wonderful nonetheless. However, she was underappreciated, I'm afraid. People saw her as less than what she truly was."

He thinks that Ethan is asleep already. The boy looks so peaceful, so serene, just like he looked as a baby, before all this motherless nonsense. His face is emotionless and his eyes are closed. _Like a sleeping angel_, Bill thinks. _An angel that I never expected or really wanted, but an angel nevertheless_.

"Someday," Ethan mutters, and Bill has to strain his ears to hear, "someday, I'm going to avenge my mother. Someday, I'm going to make her proud of me. And I'm going to make everyone see how great she really is."

_Fanciful dreams of a child_, Bill remarks in his head. Nemesis _is_ a great lady, but no amount of fighting or persuasion will bring her to the level of the Twelve Olympians. No matter what Ethan does, he will never be able to make the gods appreciate his mother. But Bill also has mixed feelings. A vain quest, perhaps, but a noble one too. Nemesis would be so proud.

Ethan starts snoring softly and Bill Nakamura slips from the room, closing the door silently behind him. "I love you, son. I just wish you could love me too."

Someday, Ethan had said. Someday. Bill knows his son is a demigod, and he knows his son is not normal. Who knows, maybe Ethan _will_ succeed.

_As long as he doesn't get hurt. I may not have wanted him at first, but he _is_ my son and I will not tolerate a _dead _son._

Someday. Of course, no one knows exactly how soon is someday. And no one knows the exact price you will have to pay.

Someday.

"_Deserve better…If they just…had thrones…" –Ethan Nakamura_

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**Bill's feelings may be confusing, but remember, he's confused himself. He never wanted a son, but he still loves Ethan. It's just Ethan's bitterness about not having a mother that makes Bill sometimes resent him. **

**I don't exactly remember much about Ethan, so most of this is made up. I don't believe that they had a physical description of him either. And since I am pretty dang horrible at making names up, I called Mr. Nakamura "William." The last line is Rick Riordan's and they are Ethan's last words. He's always been an underappreciated character, I've noticed, so this is for the son of Nemesis who paid more than an eye for his mother.**

**Please Read and Review!**


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